


The Ghosts of Malachor

by MaryTheGizka



Series: There Is No Passion [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Delayed Grieving, F/M, Force Ghost(s), I was going for a gothic vibe but it got sappier than intended, Mention of injuries, questionable sanity, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheGizka/pseuds/MaryTheGizka
Summary: Several months after the Star Forge, Revan goes back to Malachor and finds her old room in the underground academy.
Relationships: Alek | Darth Malak/Female Revan, Alek | Darth Malak/Revan
Series: There Is No Passion [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1500500
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Ghosts of Malachor

The building is empty, and it takes some exploring before she finds her old room. That she could settle here, in the bowels of this dead world, in the darkest corner of the galaxy… surely, that should tell her enough. How accustomed she’d grown to death and destruction. How truly lost she was, and how eager she should be to leave the past behind. But she’s a fool – she’s always been a fool, apparently – and so, is it really surprising that the urge to press on prevails over the admonitions of common sense?  
The lock has gone rusty, of course, but if there’s anything she’s learnt from Mission, it’s that a bit of patience can get you past any door, and so, she picks the lock and gets in. The room is shabbier than expected, and consists of an unmade bed, a chest and a small desk. There is a datapad on the nightstand and a rolled up towel on the bed, as if she were always going to come back, but most of all, it's the small _paper_ envelope slipped under the door that catches her attention. _For Rev_ , it says. Without thinking, she opens it.

_Uthar has called._  
_I am leaving for Korriban within the hour. Another jedi group has attempted to infiltrate the academy. All killed. It’s the second time this month, and this time a master was there._  
_I tire of this war, Revan. We should have won already, and I know – you know – that a little help is all it would take. You have the Star Forge now. Use it. All of it. There is no turning back now, and you know as well as I do that the only way out is through. We must conquer, or die, and the latter I still cannot accept. ~~I can’t lose y~~_  
_Please think about what I asked you. ~~There’s no denying what we’ve become but I~~ I’ll wait for you on Korriban. Please call me when you can._

The letter is unsigned, but there’s no mistaking the identity of the sender. Revan sits on the bed and leans back against the wall, fiddling with the paper, and notices the small, carmine flower that’s been left at the bottom of the envelope – wilted and brittle and dry, much like the husk of her mind. Her limbs feel heavy. Her eyes prickle.  
_No one is ever truly gone_ , she silently repeats to herself. Not when they still haunt your dreams, not when they still leave you notes. At least, that’s what she tells herself. That’s what she tells herself when the sleep pills do not work. And that’s what she tells herself when a bright, translucent shape appears next to her at the edge of the bed.

There’s none of the raw power she’d perceived in the last Sith ghost, none of that clinging to life, that refusal to be no more. No, not this time. This one is fleeting, weak, and forlorn.  
The figure does not speak, nor does it try to move, and there’s blood on his chest, and there’s tears on his face, pooling onto the seam of his hard metal jaw. Then he looks up at her, sadly, softly, and no, it’s not the face she’s grown to miss, it’s the mess she’s left in her wake. It doesn’t matter. A tear rolls down her cheek, and the spectre raises a hand, as if to wipe it off, but the tear keeps rolling, past the blue hand and down her neck.

“You never got the note,” he says, barely above a whisper, and looks away. “We never made it back. We… ” he trails off, “ so much happened after that day. I don’t think I ever forgave either of us. Not while I was alive.”

Revan reaches out to his face, but her hand goes straight through it.

“I wish I hadn’t… I’m sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

His head drops.

“As am I. There’s no use in wishing now but… if I could go back, if I could change the past…”

Revan nods.

“I know. Trust me.”

They sit in silence for a while. Seconds. Hours. She does not know. Eventually, Malak gets up, and she follows him without thinking.

“Go, now. You mustn’t linger too long. Malachor’s ghosts will drive you mad.”

Isn’t she mad already?

“Will I see you again?”

“Oh, Revan…”

“Please… Please answer me.”

But already, the presence fades, and the bright halo turns to a haze.

“I do not know, Revan. But when you remember… I come as close to existing as I ever will. For that I am sorry… but grateful.”

Revan swallows. There is so much left to ask, so much left unsaid, so much that goes against the most basic form of reason. She’s not ready, not yet, and it’s unfair.

“Please wait…”

Another tear rolls down her face.

_I love you._

The voice dies out.

“I know.”


End file.
